A Family Matter
by Artemicion
Summary: A fill for this prompt: Kay is Coulson's dad. Run with it. Will contain slash Coulson/Hawkeye and spoilers for both the Avengers and MIB3 movie.
1. Chapter 1

_**A Family Matter**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or MIB or any of their characters. That right belongs to Marvel. Lucky bastards.**

**A/N: This is a fill for this prompt on the avengerkink meme: "**_**Agent Kay is Coulson's dad. Run with it.**_**" It will contain some slash between Coulson/Hawkeye, meaning men in a relationship with other men. So if that's not your thing, turn back now. Other than that? Enjoy. **

* * *

**Chapter 1**

In retrospect, it shouldn't have surprised anyone that if Phil Coulson was alive that the first person to break into layers upon layers of S.H.E.I.L.D. security to find him would be his father. The man that had once been known as Kevin Coulson walked down the stark white hallways with a brisk but languid pace. The man exuded self-assurance and purpose. As he walked, he even nodded politely to anyone that looked up and made eye contact with him. The more alert ones paused to look at him longer than a passing glance, recognizing something unusual about his being there or maybe the way he looked but were unable to figure out why.

He continued on his way, the heels of his shoes clacking quietly against the hospital's clean floor. Like every other hospital, every inch of the building seemed to have a faint odor of antiseptic. The fluorescent lights emitted a low buzz and flickered every so often. It was late so it was quiet and still, save a few on-call doctors and nurses that flitted from room to room.

It was past visiting hours, but the sight of a sharply dressed agent walking down those halls was not unusual. So no one questioned it when the agent, clad in a sharply pressed black suit, tie, and expensive-looking shoes, deftly entered the Intensive Care Unit and made for the room of Agent Coulson. He froze in the doorway for a long moment, taking in the bed where the pale figure lay. The ventilator's rhythmic compressions of oxygen moved in conjunction with the steady beeping that came from the heart monitor.

He spotted a clipboard hanging at the end of the bed and flicked idly through the pages, scanning words like 'perforated lung' and 'medically-induced coma' and 'severe internal hemorrhage.' Then he glanced back at the face whose story could be told in the lines that he couldn't remember seeing there before, nor the purplish bags under the closed eyes.

Sighing, he made his way to the side of the bed as flashes of another time, another life, flickered across his eyes. He remembered a small cottage with flowers and a smiling woman who dutifully tended to them. He also remembered a happy, rambunctious little boy with big gray-green eyes and a gap-toothed smile that had liked to run around with one of the pot lids he'd painted red, white, and blue and bore a big star in the center.

With these images swimming in his mind's eye, the man who'd once been called Kevin Coulson in that life reached down to touch the still hand of Phil Coulson. He ignored the disappointment that sharply lanced through his chest when there was no reaction, no change, at his touch. He smoothed back the dry, awry brown hair and rested his hand there for a moment; the action had always comforted Phil when he'd been ill as a child, after all.

_Don't worry, son. Dad will make this all better_.

Straightening up, he removed his hand from the prone body and glanced directly towards the spot just above the television. A tiny, inconspicuous camera was imbedded cleverly into the pattern of the wall. He cocked his head at it, wondering just how baffled the hospital security staff must have been at that moment when all of their cameras had simultaneously malfunctioned. He could only imagine what they'd think when they discovered that all of the recordings taken by multiple cameras along one very specific path that led from the hospital's entrance to one particular room in the ICU had been erased.

He casually reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and produced a handful of small discs. They were no larger than the size of quarters, but within them was embedded some of the most sophisticated technology that existed in the universe, technology that Earth was so far away from achieving on its own that it was almost laughable.

He pressed one of the discs to the side of the bulky hospital bed, one on the IV drip, one on the ventilator, and one on the heart monitor. The last he carefully placed on Phil's chest, just below the wound on the starchy white bandage that covered his entire upper torso. Then he fished out a small portable device and typed in their destination coordinates. The discs began to emit a soft white glow, pulsing in perfect sync as they awaited the final command from him.

His eyes roved around the room one last time, checking to see if he'd missed anything. When they fell upon what appeared to be Phil's personal effects, he took a moment to scoop up only one thing: Phil's dog tags from his stint in the Marines. There was also a silver wedding band dangling amidst them on the chain that Phil had added years ago.

Reaching into his inner pocket again, he produced his sunglasses and placed them down on the table in the place of Phil's tags. Then he turned and walked back to the bed, pressing a single button on the handheld device. The pulsing light became a bright glow that flashed, flaring outward to fill the room and empty hallway with a blinding white light. By the time the first security guard and nurse stumbled into the room, the man now known as Agent Kay, his son Phil, and every gadget that had been used to keep his son alive was gone.

* * *

Nick Fury liked to think that he was a patient man. Being the Director of an agency of super spies and entrusted with the security of the entire world demanded discipline, patience, and the will to do whatever it took to get the job done. He'd given everything of himself and more to make S.H.E.I.L.D. the formidable force that it had become. Today, however, patience was something he was short on.

"And tell me, _Agent_. How does one simply _lose_ a patient out of a highly secured building with special agents and security officers crawling every floor? Not to mention that it has one of the world's most complex and advanced security systems," he demanded in a hard voice.

Agent Jasper Sitwell was a young and brilliant agent. He had passed every one of S.H.E.I.L.D.'s tests both in the classroom and on the field with flying colors. His sharp intellect was only matched by his deadpan wit and unflappable demeanor even in the face of the greatest diversity. But it took something special not to flee when facing down the full wrath of Nick Fury.

"We're still looking into it, Sir," Sitwell answered around a gulp, hoping Fury hadn't noticed the way his eyes had flickered towards the windows (that he judged he could make an escape through if he was fast enough). "From what we've gathered, at approximately 0132 hours the system suffered a severe malfunction and went off-line for a total of nine minutes and thirty-eight seconds. When it rebooted, there was no explanation for what caused it to malfunction."

Fury's brows furrowed. "Could it have been hacked?"

"The logs don't indicate any remote interference. There's _nothing_. It's as if the system just decided to go off-line and then reboot itself because it wanted to," Sitwell replied with a thoughtful frown of his own. Fury's irritation ebbed just a little; he knew the young agent would be pouring over the logs for the next few days, obsessing over them until he found what tiny detail that he had missed.

"What about the security cameras? Were they still rolling while the system was down?" Fury asked.

Sitwell nodded. "Yes, Sir. But it's the strangest thing."

He leaned over the keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys. Abruptly, the images on the grid of monitors flashed to the night before, during the time of the malfunction. "As you can see, the cameras continued to roll while the system stopped feeding the images to the server. All except these."

He gestured to the ones that had become nothing but snow. Fury looked over each one and quickly traced their locations as sequential: starting from the entrance of the hospital, down a series of hallways, an elevator, then to the ICU…and finally to Agent Coulson's room. This had not been some random flux. This had been done by someone _good_ and with intent.

"Agent Coulson was targeted," Fury concluded grimly. Only a handful of agents knew that Coulson had survived the attack by Loki from three months ago. Most of them were currently crawling his room searching every inch of it for any clues as to who had expertly walked into their secured facility and abducted him without any bloodshed or even someone _noticing_ until it was too late.

"It appears that way," Sitwell admitted unhappily. Coulson had been his first friend at S.H.E.I.L.D. The older man had been the only one who'd even given the young, arrogant genius more than a contemptuous look. He'd offered a real hand in friendship despite the person Sitwell had been when he'd first joined, and to this day, Sitwell couldn't recall if he'd ever told him how much he'd appreciated the gesture.

"I want you to go through every bit of that log. I want to know what could _convince_ one of our most important security protocols to shut itself down precisely long enough for someone to walk in and kidnap one of our agents. I don't care what you have to do. Rip the damn thing apart if you have to, but get me some answers," Fury commanded, and Sitwell nodded quickly and hurried off.

Sighing heavily, Fury left the security station of the hospital and went to the scene of the 'crime.' Maria Hill was using a black light to flood the room with UV light, searching for traces of any elements that might be invisible to the naked eye. Aside from some leftover spots of blood (thankfully too dry and diluted to be Coulson's) and other unidentified fluids, there was nothing.

"It's like he just _vanished_," she huffed in frustration, ripping the goggles off of her lovely face. She handed the black light off to another agent, who continued the scan as she stood by with Fury. "Why would they take the equipment too, though? And _how_? There are no signs of a break-in, and no one saw someone roll an entire _suite_ of life support machines out. Or a bed with a comatose patient in it for that matter."

"They took all of it because whoever wanted him, wanted him _alive_, Hill," Fury replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He looked around the room that offered no answers. The windows were perfectly intact. The _blinds_ hadn't even been moved.

"But, Sir…who even knows that Coulson's alive but US?" Hill asked, and then her eyes grew wide in alarm. "You don't think the Avengers…?"

Fury mulled over it and then shook his head. "No. If they did, we'd know. This is the work of someone else. Someone more sophisticated and subtle…"

His eye absently roved around the room. Then they fell on the table where the scant personal effects that Coulson had had on his person had been placed. He'd seen them almost every day since Coulson had been admitted. So he'd memorized exactly what was there and where each item was placed long ago.

"Sir?" Hill asked as he quickly crossed the room.

Ignoring her, Fury plucked up the innocuous pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses and inspected them for a long moment. They looked familiar, but they definitely didn't belong with Coulson's things. The moment that it hit him as to why they looked familiar was both a relief and dreadful all at once.

_You motherfucker. _Fury thought. _Message received, Kay._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A Family Matter**_

**Chapter 2**

"Get up, Barton."

Clint groaned and batted at the shoe that he felt nudging at his ribs. He tried to roll away, but the interloper persisted, digging the toe of a boot so hard into his side that he reacted before he could stop himself. He sprang to his feet and swung hard, but his sloppy punch was easily blocked. Before his fuzzy, pounding mind could even process it, his arm was being twisted into an unnatural position, and a well-placed kick to his knee brought him back to the ground with a pained yelp.

"Get a hold of yourself. It's _me_, Clint," snapped an exasperated Natasha Romanov as she released him and stepped back.

He gingerly rubbed at his freed arm, still trying to catch up. His head felt as heavy as lead, and there was an incessant pounding that made it hard to think. When light hit his face, he flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, instantly regretting the decision to look up as the pounding increased tenfold.

"Ugh…Nat, close the blinds," he groaned. When she made no move to do so, he lifted his head to squint at her, only to discover that she was looking down on him with that same carefully blank expression that she'd been watching him with over the past few weeks. At least there wasn't pity there anymore. Unreadable he could handle. Hell, he could even handle her disgust. But not her pity. He didn't deserve it.

"You're in uniform," Clint realized after staring at her for entirely too long. She was in her leather and Kevlar jumpsuit, which meant she'd received orders. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her where, but of course she wouldn't tell him. So instead, he asked. "How long?"

She shrugged. "As long as it takes to find weapons of mass destruction in a jungle, I guess. You know. The usual." She crouched so that they were almost at the same level. "I need to know that while I'm gone you aren't going to be like _this_ the whole time."

He tried not to flinch at how pathetic he was. _This_ was the sight of him curled up on the floor amidst two empty bottles of whiskey. He could have sworn that there had been a third that had been half-empty before he'd passed out, but Natasha must have thrown it out before she'd prodded him awake. He was also naked with only the sheet that he'd tugged from the bed half covering him. The bed hadn't really touched since Phil's death. Clint couldn't bear to sleep in it alone. He'd tried to one night, only to spring up hours later in the unbearable darkness and silence of the night to find the nearest24-hour liquor store, anything to fill the void where Phil used to be.

"I should be going with you," Clint stated and frowned. He propped himself up against the bed. The pounding had become dull but annoying.

Natasha shrugged. "So get yourself out of this slump and get cleared to go back to active duty. But this? This every day and night isn't going to cut it, Barton."

"I know," he sighed, but they both knew it wasn't as simple as that.

"I miss him too, you know," she admitted quietly, eyes shuttering for just a moment.

Clint didn't have any words of sympathy for her, though. All he could think were selfish thoughts that _no one_ could miss Phil as much as he did. No one else had had the privilege of being married to him, shared his bed, hasty meals before and after work, movie nights, dates to the Portland Symphony Orchestra, relic hunts for Captain America memorabilia. How could she understand when she hadn't been there for the quiet looks that he and Phil used to exchange during down time or the way they'd laughed over the antics of the latest rookie agents while sharing lunches Clint himself had made and packed for them? Couldn't she understand that HE had had all of this, and more, and had gone and gotten his husband killed?

And why? Because he'd been _weak_. There was no forgiveness for that, no matter what the stupid psychiatrists and grief counselors parroted to him. Phil was gone, and it was his fault.

"I need a shower," he said for her benefit, though. Then squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. "And aspirin."

She offered a hand and hoisted him to his feet. He knew she wasn't convinced that he was turning a new page but admitted, "Yeah. You do need a shower."

* * *

Naturally, Kay's partner was more than a little upset when he found out what the older man had been up to. Kay hadn't been expecting for him to find him so quickly, but Agent Jay was persistent like that. He may have come off as a goofball, but there was no questioning the man's dogged determination and unique brand of intelligence. Or the fact that Jay seemed to have the devil's luck.

"Where have you been, man? I've been calling you for days!" Jay demanded when Kay let him into his small, sparsely furniture apartment. Being a part of the Men in Black required him to be out on the field or in the office more than actually in his own home, which was why there was a fine layer of dust on some of the surfaces.

"Sorry. Been busy, slick. You miss me?" Kay quipped as he ventured back into his bedroom.

Jay followed him, his voice getting louder the more emotional he became. "Did I miss you? Is that all you have to say? What the hell, man? I've been blowing up your phone. I've been all over the damn place looking for you, and all you have to say is _you've been busy_?"

Kay shrugged and turned his attention to shoving his civilian clothing into the duffle bag that he'd been in the middle of packing when Jay had come knocking. "How do you know I haven't been here the whole time? I am on leave, you know."

"You _haven't_ been here," Jay retorted in a flat voice. His dark eyes flicked across Kay's bed. "What is all this? Where are you going?"

"No where you need to worry about, slick. Just spending a few days relaxing somewhere."

Jay had worked with Kay long enough to be entirely unconvinced. He barreled on. "O's been on a warpath, Kay. Ever since this Chitauri thing, people are asking questions."

"People always ask questions. Not a thing we can do if _another_ agency's fumbling exposes the world to alien life forms. We can only cover our end by making sure the life forms we already have here don't rock the boat too much," he replied, completely unperturbed.

The months following the Chitauri's attack on Earth had been a hard time for the MIB, but not because of the humans, who'd just collectively learned that they were not alone in the universe thanks to S.H.E.I.L.D.'s fumbling with the Tessaract. Chief O had not been pleased when this fact had come to light and had been lobbying the elusive World Security Counsel for more access to their sister agency's dealings since they appeared to be stepping into MIB's territory—and doing a fine job of upsetting the fine balance that MIB had spent years keeping. Ever since the Big Revelation—as some media outlets were calling it—the aliens that MIB already had registered and living on Earth had suddenly started complaining that since the knowledge of extraterrestrial life forms was now public, it meant that they would no longer stand for being denied the freedom to live as openly as they pleased.

Needless to say, it had been a very busy few months for MIB. Jay gave him a rundown of what he'd missed in the weeks he'd spent on 'vacation' searching for Phil's location. MIB had been responding to a rash of incidents, mostly from their more mischievous alien residents but even from the usually docile ones. It explained the tired, frazzled look Kay could read in his partner's face and body language. Despite himself, he felt a little bad. But it couldn't be helped. He had other priorities that needed his attention at the moment, and it wasn't like Jay couldn't handle himself after fourteen years on the job.

Jay must have read something in his face. His eyes widened, and he immediately launched into a tirade. "I know that face. You're up to something. What the hell, man? Didn't we just _talk_ about this?"

Kay silently raised an eyebrow at him, folding one of his shirts. Jay heatedly went on. "_Keeping secrets_, Kay! I thought we agreed that they were unhealthy for our partnership. You do remember me, right? Your PART-NER?"

Kay zipped up his bag and gave the younger agent a bland look. "You feel better, sport?"

The other man looked taken aback but then sputtered. "Well…yeah, but…Kay! Where are you going, man? Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

"Sure did, slick. Wish I could help you, but I'm still on leave," Kay said as he picked up the bag by the handles and pushed past Jay. Jay was not to be ignored, though, and followed him out the door, down the hall, and all the way until they reached the elevator. Jay stopped the elevator doors before they could close. He looked Kay up and down, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Kay," Jay asked in a voice that was devoid of any of his usual easy-going humor. "What about the conference?"

Kay reached out to hit the button. He wasn't lying when he answered. "I'll be there."

"You know what the Xenoxian's one condition of having the conference here was—"

"I don't need a history lesson. I was there."

"Then you KNOW if you don't show up that they'll—"

"Go to war with Ironia and then all of their allying systems will be pulled into the conflict for a galactic war of unparalleled proportions since the war of Calfaria and Diodenia one hundred and seventeen years ago when over three billion lives and over fifty seven trillion in nexus credits lost and ended a century long truce?" Kay deadpanned, lifting his eyebrows. When Jay just gaped at him like a fish, Kay tapped a finger to his temple and looked at Jay pointedly. "Memory's still sharp, slick. I'll see you at the conference. Don't be late."

Jay opened his mouth to say something more, but by then the doors had begun to slide close. Kay gave his partner a little wave before Jay's flummoxed face disappeared from view. He thought about what Jay had said, about being partners and the secrets that Kay continued to keep from him. Unfortunately, Phil was just one of many of them.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A Family Matter**_

**Chapter 3**

The new Chief of MIB was not what Fury expected her to be. She'd been the highly decorated Agent O before, a woman as fierce and intelligent as she was attractive. He found himself instinctively standing taller as she fixed her large, sharp blue eyes on him through the viewing monitor. She was dressed in the black suit that was her agency's namesake, shoulders squared and posture as composed as her demeanor as she addressed him.

"Director Fury. Nice of you to finally return my call," she spoke in an eloquent British accent.

"Forgive me, Madam Chief. It's been a…busy time for us," was Fury's cool response. "I never did congratulate you on your promotion."

"You're very kind. I admit that it came as a shock to me as well. I can only strive to continue the good work that Zed started," O pleasantly answered, folding her fingers across her glass-top desk. She went right on into business. "We need to discuss the Chitauri incident, Director."

"I agree," Fury.

O's voice didn't take on an accusatory note, but there was a flat quality to her soft voice that indicated her displeasure. "I was informed that the Tessaract is now out of our reach?"

Fury nodded. "With any luck it should be where it belongs: in a secured vault guarded by the king of the Norse Gods."

She raised a delicate eyebrow at the term 'Norse Gods,' and Fury had the distinct feeling that she was resisting the urge to snort. After all, to an MIB agent, a being from another planet other than their own was just another alien. She didn't comment on it, instead saying, "I do hope your containment team has a sound tactic for dealing with the fallout of the attack on Manhattan."

"The world was bound to find out, Madam Chief. It was only a matter of time _who_ would make the first move. But then again, this isn't really first contact, now is it?" he replied casually.

"No, but it doesn't negate the fact that the Tessaract should have been turned over to MIB the moment it was recovered," she answered, as unflappable as ever.

"That couldn't be helped. It was recovered almost seventy years ago, if you recall. Even before S.H.E.I.L.D. was formed."

O did not look impressed, but her voice never changed its pitch. "Nonetheless, the Tessaract should have been delivered to MIB sometime between then and now. In light of recent events, I would say that it would have been the wiser course of action, would it not have?"

There was a time when Fury would have immediately begged to differ. A part of him still did, especially since the Tessaract had played its part well in making the Avengers Initiative a success. Loki's siege had come at a most opportune time to unite the response team that Fury had been hoping to form for years.

_But were the sacrifices worth it? All those lives that were lost and the damage that was done to the city?_ A doubtful voice whispered in the back of Fury's mind. He didn't like uncertainty. In his line of work, taking risks were a vital and necessary part of the job. Uncertainty, however, was dangerous and casted a shadow on everything it touched.

"I understand your frustration, but it was the Council's call. Not mine," Fury answered, his lips pressed into a thin line that mirror her displeasure. How many times had he stood at this very spot arguing with the shadowy World Security Council?

If O was surprised, she hid it well. She paused for a quiet moment, and Fury could see her mulling over his words and their next course of action. Then she stated in her prim, proper voice. "I will discuss the merit of Phase Two with the Council myself. In the meantime, all of S.H.E.I.L.D.'s research and notes on the Tessaract and all related files regarding the Chitauri and Asgard are to be turned over to MIB's custody. I want everything, Director. And I will be sending my agents to check for thoroughness so please save us the time and trouble by cooperating. This does not have to be unpleasant."

"I'd be more than happy to cooperate, Madam Chief, but first you have something that belongs to _me_ that I'd like to get back," Fury said, not missing a beat.

That fact that she even knew the term 'Phase Two' was a stark reminder of just how far and deep MIB's influence ran. The organization had been charged with policing the alien life forms already living on or traveling to Earth for longer than S.H.E.I.L.D. had even been in existence and had access to knowledge and technology that was years beyond what the rest of Earth had to offer—even among S.H.E.I.L.D. Fury would have been lying if he'd said that he wasn't leery of MIB, but there was no denying that they'd done their job of keeping Earth safe and its residents wholly unaware of the aliens that lived amongst them well.

O blinked warily. "And what would that be?"

"One of your agents walked into a secured facility of ours two days ago without authorization. He was very meticulous to cover his trail, and all the security footage of that time was mysteriously deleted from the server. And I know you know what I'm talking about so let's not play any games," Fury looked hard at her impassive face. "I want my agent back, O."

O sighed. She was gracious enough not to pretend as if she didn't already know what he was referring to. "Whatever it was that Agent Kay did, he acted of his own accord and not at the behest of the MIB. I can assure you—"

"Is that so?" Fury interrupted dubiously. "How do I know taking Agent Coulson wasn't MIB's way of seizing some collateral over us?"

She opened her mouth to reply but then stopped. Instead, she closed her mouth and gave Fury a wry expression. "The same Agent Coulson that you declared _dead_ three months ago, Director?"

"Not officially," Fury pointed out. "Actually, that announcement was only broadcasted to agents that were involved in the Chitari incident. It's interesting that you should know about it, Madam Chief, since the truth of his status was kept strictly confidential until we could ensure Agent Coulson's survival. But I'm sure it's all a big coincidence and that you came across the information unintentionally."

Their eyes were locked for a moment in a silent clash of wills. Finally, Fury broke the stand-off by asking, "Where's Kay, O?"

"We're not sure," she admitted with another sigh. "The last person to see him was his partner two nights ago, but ever since then he's eluded us. He took an emergency leave of absence two weeks ago claiming that he had 'a family matter' to attend to."

Fury snorted. A family matter. Well, Kay hadn't lied at least. What Fury found suspicious was that O had actually _granted_ the leave request. MIB agents generally let go of familial ties once they were inducted; any relationship could be used as potential weaknesses that could be exploited. It was one of the few ways that their two agencies were similar. If cleaning up after S.H.E.I.L.D had become such a mess, as she had alluded, then why would she have allowed one of her top agents precious time off _now_?

"When I get Agent Coulson back, you'll get the information you requested," he stated, leaving no room for argument.

Of course, she did argue but as calmly as ever and with a cool raise of one eyebrow. "Are you really in the position to make demands, Director? I could simply have the information removed from your systems. That power was granted to MIB when it is in regards to alien technology. Even over your agency."

"Oh I have no doubt of that, Madam Chief. However, first you'd have to find it," he calmly noted. "And with so many complex systems and security protocols who knows how long that could take without our cooperation? We took quite a beating from the Chitauri incident, you know. A lot of the data that was stored on the systems on the Helicarrier have been severely damaged, some to the point that they can never be retrieved again. I would hate for the same to happen to the files on the Tessaract."

O fell silent, but Fury saw the split-second flash of indignation in those clear blue eyes. She cocked her head, studying him quietly. "You play a dangerous game, Director. Are you sure it's one you're ready to partake in?"

Fury tried not to feel a sliver of doubt under the penetrating gaze. "I just want my agent back safe and sound, Madam Chief. Then you'll have all the information that you requested. No games."

"We'll be in touch," O finally said after a pause, still in her soft lilt, and then the screen filled with the S.H.E.I.L.D. emblem once more. Fury breathed out a heavy sigh. He stared at the emblem for a long time, feeling the uncertainty like a physical weight upon his shoulders.

* * *

Clint was only vaguely aware of what was happening outside of his and P… _his_ townhouse in Portland. What he did know he'd only learned through flashes from the news shows or from the newspaper when he cared enough to read them. Mostly it came from Natasha and sometimes Captain America himself when he stopped by to check in on Clint—probably at Natasha's request.

They were the few links to the outside world that Clint still held on to, albeit loosely. Sometimes, he couldn't even bear to see _them_ and would wallow in his own misery until one (or both) of them would make him see sense. He would spend days afterwards feeling guilty for being so pathetic, for being so _weak_ and ungrateful that he couldn't even value the few people he had that cared enough about him to want him to continue living. But he didn't know what else to do.

Natasha's visit had at least spurred him to get out of the townhouse and attempt to do something. He'd blinked at the blinding sunlight just after he'd emerged, wondering why the world outside was this annoyingly cheerful and bright when there was nothing in his life to be happy about. It nearly made him turn around and go back in right there, but he squeezed his hands into fists at his sides and made himself walk.

There wasn't really a goal. He avoided every place he and Phil had frequented, unable to bear even the thought of going into them without his husband either chastising him about trying something new or gushing like the big (adorable) dork that he was about the Collectors' Edition Captain America comic that he was determined to find at the local comic book shop. He'd never hear that beloved voice again or get to roll his eyes before he ultimately gave in—anything to see Phil flash him that wide, almost bashful, smile.

_In ten years did I ever once tell him how much I loved that smile?_

He couldn't remember if he ever had, and it was killing him. It was such a small, stupid thing, but it and a hundred other things he'd never said haunted him. What had his last words been to Phil the morning before he'd left for his shift to watch over Eric Selvig and the Tessaract? Something about wanting to go to their favorite Vietnamese restaurant once they got back to Portland? Had that really been the best he could do?

Clint ducked past the coffee shop where he'd made countless runs in the early mornings, always stopping by after his morning jog. Phil always took his coffee the same way: two creams and three sugars. Contrary to popular belief, Clint was the morning person between the two of them. Phil had been the one that would snuggle back into the warm pillow and sheets, mumbling that he just wanted another five minutes. Sometimes he'd even pin Clint to the bed and fall back to sleep. But who got blamed if they showed up late? Not Phil, of course, but the unexpected trait was so endearing that Clint was willing to bear the cross just to keep the knowledge of it all to himself.

_But he'll never do that again. Ever._

He crossed his arms and leaned heavily against the painted safety rail that lined that part of the Willamette River as it wound its way through downtown Portland. It was a beautiful day, and there were happy families going about their business all around him. Some sort of festival was carrying on a few hundred feet down, taking up several blocks of downtown and filling the air with music. He just stared into the listless water for a long time. Where did he go from there?

_Home_. _Might as well_. Clint shoved his hands into his pockets as he retraced his steps back to the lifeless townhouse. It made for an acceptable storage unit for his things and the things that he'd managed to hide from the infuriatingly thorough S.H.E.I.L.D. clean-up crew that had taken most of Phil's things (as per the _stupid_ directive that eliminated all traces of a deceased agent). But it hadn't truly felt like home for a while.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the oppressive silence wrapped itself around him. He started to toss his keys onto the table by the door, only to pause mid-action when he remembered how Phil would scold him for it when the key hooks were literally _right there_ beside the door. Clint's hand trembled as he hung the keys in the proper place. Then he took the steps two at a time to get to the bedroom.

He fished a bottle from his emergency stash in the closet. He sank to the floor, back pressed against the bed, and untwisted the cap with one hand while the other reached for the cell phone he'd left on the nightstand. He froze when he saw that he had two missed calls from the contact in his phone that he'd labeled 'Papa C.'

The last time Clint had talked to his father-in-law had been to break the news that Phil was dead. He hadn't wanted the news to come to Phil's father in the form of a folded flag and whatever empty words Fury might think up. Hell, they didn't even have a _body_ to lay to rest due to Protocol two-two-four-three-blah-blah-whatever that laid out how to handle any deceased agents who'd had physical contact with unknown alien technology.

Clint had been furious, but Agent Kay of the Men in Black had not reacted much outwardly at all. He'd just stayed silent, staring at Clint with a wooden expression that had reminded Clint so much of Phil that he couldn't even look the man in the eyes for the rest of the visit. Now, almost four months later, he couldn't recall if Kay had even said anything. All Clint could remember was bracing himself for the older man's condemnation, for breaking the vows Kay himself had been there to witness when Clint had _promised_ to cherish and protect his only child until death did them part.

_Well, I sure fucked that one up, didn't I? I did just the opposite._ Tossing the phone aside, Clint drowned the loneliness and self-loathing in a long swig of whiskey that burned its way down his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A Family Matter**_

**A/N**: Thank you for all the words of encouragement to keep going. I'm glad you all are enjoying reading it as much as I am writing this.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

There were some days when Agent Jay thought that the whole 'secret agent thing' didn't pay. As he hoisted himself out of the man hole, covered from head to toe in Langari slug slime and with a healthy amount of bruising around his midsection, he added a mental tally mark denoting that _this_ would be one of those days. When his feet were firmly planted on the pavement, he inspected his ruined suit with a scowl. He smelled as disgusting as he looked…and it was more due to the Langari slime than anything that might have been floating around in the sewers.

"Bachuka ra kaasii!" gurgled Sal the Slug as three junior agents struggled to drag him towards the cage car that would take him back to MIB Headquarters. A glistening trail of slime, not unlike the slime that covered Jay, was left in their wake. Sal continued to struggle, cursing Jay and the junior agents in Langari, spittle and slime flying everywhere.

Normally, he was known as a sweaty, obese Caucasian man that ran the arcade on 5th. Sal had come to Earth four years ago with his family to escape the tyranny of the Salt Lord Zoma, whose fleet had laid siege on Langaria for almost ten years. He and his family had acclimated to living on Earth and had been well-behaved, law-abiding citizens…up until about two months ago.

"Jay! JAY! Chuka ra kaasiiiiii," Sal snarled as he was stuffed into the metallic cauldron-like cage that was attached to the back of an MIB-owned flatbed truck. His cursing was cut short when one of the now slime-covered junior agents slammed the door shut.

Jay let out an aggravated sigh and made his way towards his car. His shoes squelched with each step, and he groaned. He _hated_ walking around in wet socks. The ass-smelling slime he could deal with, but soaked shoes and socks? _Hell_ no.

Suddenly someone was holding out a towel for him. "You look like wet rat."

Jay glanced up and found an Asian woman smirking at him, her brown eyes bright with amusement. She thrust the towel towards him again, indicating for him to take it. He gratefully did so and buried his face in it. "I _feel_ like a wet rat, Vee. Damn."

When he lifted his face out of the towel, Vee was smiling at him in the way that made her eyes look small and squinty. She shook her head, sending her short black hair swishing gently around her rosy face. "If it's any consolation you're doing better than HE is."

He followed the way she indicated, where another junior agent was reluctantly picking his way through the slime trail that Sal had left. As Jay and Vee watched, he made a misstep and went crashing to the ground with his feet flying over his head. The impact of his back hitting the thick, gooey slime made a squelching noise. Dazed, the junior agent lay there and stared up at the sky, then frantically tried to get himself out of the disgusting Langari body fluid, which became its own spectacle as he slipped and slid on his hands and knees.

"R," Vee sighed, "for 'rookie.'"

Despite himself, Jay grinned at her and teased. "You remember how bad _we_ were when we came on?"

Vee shook her head emphatically. "Nope! And don't even go there because you and I weren't anywhere near that hopeless."

She had a point. The two of them had been recruited only a month apart, with Vee having seniority. They'd gone through the same MIB cadet training, though, and had been two of the handful that had been selected to move on to field training. Of those that had passed field training, only the two of them and one other were alive—and _that _man had chosen to be neuralized back into a mundane nine-to-five existence.

It was hard to believe that fourteen years had gone by. He was a Level One Senior Field Agent with the reputation for being one of the best while she was a highly decorated field agent that seemed to have been given the task of training recruit after hapless recruit. Crazy.

A sharp ringing sound and vibrating emitted from Jay's pocket. He fished out his phone and sighed when he saw who it was. Giving Vee an exasperated look, he answered. "Jay."

"Jay, what's the status on the Langari situation?" Chief O asked pleasantly, as if she were inquiring about the weather or who had won at last Yankees game.

"Handled, Chief. We're hauling Sal back in to HQ now. You got something else for me?" Jay asked, trying hard not to let his reluctance bleed through. He was wet, covered in slime, stank, and tired. He was owed at least enough time to _shower_, right?

O heard the reluctance anyway. "A simple task, Agent Jay. I need you to go do a final sweep of the conference site. We've had agents patrolling and guarding the perimeter all day, but I want for you to do a final check for anything that we may have missed."

Jay nodded, though O couldn't see it. He'd been expecting as much; he'd just hoped that the order wouldn't come when he was on the tail end of an arrest in the New York City sewers. "We're not expecting any setbacks, are we?"

"Only if Kay decides not to show up," O quipped casually, as if it weren't something that had been weighing on both of their minds. After a pause, she asked. "Have you heard from him?"

"No. But he said he'd definitely be at the conference," Jay replied and swiped at a remaining glob of slime on his face.

O's tone took on a sharper note. "Jay, if Kay isn't there—"

"He _will_, O." Jay insisted in staunch support of his partner, but it _sounded_ more confident than what he actually felt. _I hope..._

O let out a soft, aggrieved sigh. He could hear the barely contained frustration that the MIB Chief had been harboring about Kay for the past few months, when Kay had suddenly started to act very bizarrely…even for _him_. Jay could sympathize with her because it was how he felt when his partner was being even more tight-lipped and secretive than what was usual…and that was saying a lot.

After a pause, Jay threw a look towards the crowd that had gathered when MIB had been in the middle of cleaning up. He didn't see any media vans with their tell-tale towers or gabby, persistent reporters yet, but they couldn't be far off. The Chitauri incident had not only exposed the existence of alien life forms but forced MIB to make some changes in how they dealt with covering up any alien-involved incidents that they responded to. Sometimes.

"There's still a mess to clean up here," Jay told the Chief and made a face down at his ruined suit. "Literally."

"Let Vee handle that. I want you at the conference site. And _then_ I want you to track Kay down."

Jay huffed. "I thought you said you had a 'simple task' for me."

"...That was the site inspection."

"O, when he said that he'd be there, I believed him. Besides, you know that man is like a ghost. When he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

"You've been his partner for over ten years. I have every confidence in your ability to find him."

"He'll _be_ _there_, O. He wouldn't miss it when it's this important."

"This isn't just about the conference, Jay," O admitted quietly, which startled him. Given her and Kay's history, he half-expected some declaration that she was worried about him, but what she actually said was: "He has something that belongs to S.H.E.I.L.D. They are refusing to release the information on the Tessaract and Chitauri until they get it back."

Jay couldn't help the disbelief that coated his voice. "Can't we just _take_ it from them since…you know…MIB and all?"

"Not without—well, just no. Not this time."

"Not without…" Jay had begun to ask 'not without _what_' but trailed off and rolled his eyes hard instead; he already knew the answer that he'd get. _It's above your pay grade. Hell, what IS in my pay grade beside chasing aliens through the sewers or getting tossed off buildings or impre—_

O's prim voice interrupted his internal ranting. "Keep me posted."

There was a soft click and then silence. Jay sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Then he calmly tucked his phone back into his pocket and pulled out his shades. He motioned for Vee to come to him and explained that he was leaving the clean-up to her and her merry band of rookies.

She shrugged good-naturedly. "No problem. It'll be good practice for them. Go do what you gotta' do."

He thanked her and pivoted on his heels. As he made his way towards his car, he thought over where he would even start in the hunt for his missing partner. Behind him, there was a bright flash, followed by Vee lecturing the neuralized crowd on the dangers of letting teenagers experiment with wild life and household cleaning chemicals.

* * *

The safe house was a small three bedroom house in a quant suburb outside of Greenwood, Indiana. It was a cozy place that was set in a quiet neighborhood with friendly, unassuming neighbors. The house was fully furnished, and the yard was kept mowed and pruned year round. To the world it was owned by a wealthy businessman that rented the property out to a number of tenants though he himself was rarely seen. To MIB, it was just one of many safe houses that was used to house important alien visitors or those in need of a safe haven while they remained under MIB protection.

It definitely had its uses. The security system, for example, was one of the most thorough and complex security systems that existed. MIB had taken great care to arm the house with the best monitoring system for the house's occupants—one that could easily be turned into a _defense_ system should the need arise.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor and compression of the ventilator filled the Master bedroom. It was where Phil lay amidst the drone of the machines that kept him clinging to life. Kay silently watched from the doorway as the doctor affectionately—and unsurprisingly—known as Dee checked Phil over. He had worked with the doctor since the man had been recruited into MIB. Dee had served as an active agent for years before retiring from the field to serve as one of MIB's resident doctors. The man took his job seriously and, more importantly, understood the importance of discretion.

"Vitals are weak but steady. Brain activity is normal. There's a slight rattling in his lungs, though, so I'm going to keep him on the ventilator," Dee said as he tugged his stethoscope from his ears and draped it across the back of his neck. He gave Kay a measured look. "He's stable, but I stand by what I said. He needs to be at a hospital, Kay."

"I heard you the first time, doctor," Kay answered.

"But he's still staying here until the conference," Dee replied disapprovingly, repeating Kay's statement from their earlier discussion.

Kay nodded. "He'll live until then?"

"Given that you administer the medicine on the schedule I've prescribed and keep him stationary then yes, I believe he'll make it until the conference," Dee answered, ever the consummate professional. Kay could see the question of 'who is he?' practically dancing on the tip of Dee's tongue, in the curious look within his dark green eyes, but they both knew the same protocols and the 'need to know' clause that was imbedded into everything involved in their line of work.

"What are the chances of him waking up soon?" Kay asked; he tried to keep the hope he'd been fostering out of his voice, but Dee's frown in Phil's direction was not reassuring.

"It's probably better if he doesn't yet. The complications that he suffered during surgery caused an infection in his right lung, which is why his chest cavity is still so enflamed. The wound on his back is healing. In the front, though, the second time they went in to drain the blood from his lungs forced them to undo some of what had begun to heal naturally. The anti-inflammatory will help with the swelling, but if he woke up, breathing would be torture. It really is a kindness to keep him sedated."

Dee's no holds barred response was grim, but Kay appreciated honesty above mindless optimism. He absorbed the doctor's words with only a stoic nod outwardly. On the inside, the parent within him cringed at the thought of his child being in any sort of pain. He continued to struggle with the infuriating helplessness long after Dee quietly departed with a comment to contact him immediately if there were any changes.

Kay sat beside Phil's bed, his chin propped up by an arm that he dug into the chair's arm. He grasped one of Phil's dry, lifeless hands and stroked his thumb across his knuckles. He could recall a time when this same hand had been so tiny that it had completely disappeared within Kay's hand.

Then again, Phil had been born three weeks premature. He had come into the world so small and fragile that Kay had spent his son's first nights huddled over an incubator, urging the tiny pink newborn to _live. Please._

Of course, Phil had survived and had grown up strong and healthy, but the terror of those stressful nights had never completely dissipated. Terror had no place in Agent Kay's life, but here it was welling up in him again like fresh blood from a reopened wound. This time was different, though. He wouldn't have to sit idly by choking on the terror that he might lose his only son because this time he had the power to save Phil.

Or more precisely, the Xenoxians did.

* * *

There was a wet, choked sound that came from the HU-MAN's throat as Sho-Va Tel Keem's claw crushed the puny and inferior neck. What a stupid, ineffective design: a weak column of vertebrae, a thick and vulnerable blood vein and artery, and not even adequate muscle to protect the life giving air or food pipe. It was as if whatever False Earthling God that had created these HU-MANS had intended for there to be an easy way to eliminate them.

He sneered at the bug-eyed look the HU-MAN woman gave him as her hands futilely tried to pry his claw from her neck. Tiny blood vessels were bursting in her eyes, creating small blots of red amid the white that Sho-Va observed in fascination the longer and tighter he held. He could sense what HU-MAN terror smelt like, for she had long ago let loose the contents of her bladder. It dribbled down her flailing legs and dripped into the pool of blood that was rapidly forming as it gushed from her mate's still body.

"_Tell me," _Sho-Va hissed in the rough HU-MAN tongue of English, drawing the woman closer to his face. Her face was turning a shade of purple, and her fingers were quickly losing strength. "_Agent_ _Kay. Tell me…."_

She only panicked more, red eyes bulging even more as desperate, unintelligible squeaks came from her mouth. Sho-Va felt her flailing weaken, and in seconds she went completely limp. He released her, and she crumpled lifelessly over the body of her mate. He stepped over them and stomped slowly through the splintered door frame belonging to the dwelling of Agent Kay.

Inside, Sho-Va's Blade-Brother emerged from an interior room and growled that the HU-MAN they sought was not present. The temperamental Vin-Del Ro Kaa roared his frustration and smashed his armored claw into a large case that containing an array of meaningless human baubles. It all came raining down with the broken bits of wood and glass. While Sho-Va had been gathering intelligence from the neighboring HU-MANS, Vin-Del had been thorough in his search for Agent Kay in the dwelling. No pot or table had been left undisturbed.

"Be calm, Blade-Brother Mine. We _hunt_," Sho-Va said in their native language and received a toothy grin from his counterpart. Suddenly, there were footsteps rapidly charging down the hallway. Sho-Va turned in time to see several foolish HU-MANS dressed in black uniforms with shiny bits of metal attached to their breasts stumble over the dead bodies and into the ruined doorway.

"_What the fuck are those things?" _one of them exclaimed and pointed a puny black weapon at the Blade-Brothers.

"How the fuck should I know, Murph? YOU! NYPD! PUT YOUR…CLAWS UP!" screeched the other as if he had some sort of authority. He too held a puny black weapon in his shaking hands as well.

The Blade-Brothers bathed the halls in the red blood of the HU-MANS. They had a mission to complete. Agent Kay would be found, and he too would join his HU-MAN kin in death.


End file.
